


another's. she will be another's.

by starkidpatronus



Category: Degrassi
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February 2018, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Post-Break Up, Prompt Fic, Prompt: carousel, carousel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 23:13:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13580937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkidpatronus/pseuds/starkidpatronus
Summary: Fiona still thinks of her, sometimes. When she’s feeling particularly masochistic. Or when she’s at carnivals. How could she not think of her at carnivals?





	another's. she will be another's.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a day late; sorry, I was with my girlfriend yesterday. But here it is! Some introspective Fimogen angst, post-breakup, because I always think of them when I think of anything related to carnivals. :(
> 
> Title taken from the poem "Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines" by Pablo Neruda.

                Fiona still thinks of her, sometimes. When she’s feeling particularly masochistic. Or when she’s at carnivals. How could she not think of her at carnivals?

                Barcelona is incredible. It’s Fiona’s favorite city, so far. It’s just so…alive. So wonderfully alive, every corner of it. Naturally, their carnivals are too.

                And where there are carnivals, there are Ferris wheels. And where there are Ferris wheels, there is Imogen. There is always Imogen.

                It’s been five years. Fiona should be over it by now. And she is, mostly. But she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel a pang of regret when looking at the big spinning wheel.

                She supposes it was inevitable. It is what happens when people realize they want different things, after all; they part ways. It’s a normal part of living. Fiona really shouldn’t be so sensitive.

                But her personal heartbreaks have always felt so much bigger than heartbreaks of other people in the abstract. Which, she supposes, is also pretty normal.

                It’s just—It felt like it came out of nowhere, at the time. It still does. They’d always been so in-synch. And then, they were all over the place. It was like someone flipped a switch, and in a flash, it was all gone.

                She doesn’t look at the Ferris wheel for that long; she doesn’t let herself. She’s with friends from work, after all; she’s meant to be having a good time.

                So, she plays games. She wins a stupid, oversized bear that she cuddles for the rest of the night. She goes on rides. She even consents to the carousel, which she would have scoffed at when she was younger. And then Imogen would have dragged her on anyways, and she would have been laughing the whole time.

                She tries, but as she spins around on her fake pony, she can’t tear her thoughts from brown hair in buns and crazy glasses and a laugh like sunlight. She thinks maybe the never-ending spinning of the carousel is a metaphor, but she isn’t sure how, and she’s too dizzy and tired and caught up in latent heartbreak to figure it out.

                One of her friends brushes the back of her hand as they walk home together. Fiona allows it. This is life, after all. People move on. She moves on. There have been others since Imogen, after all; there will continue to be others. There will be many, many others, until she finds The One. (Never mind if she once thought she already had.)

                When her probably-not-just-a-friend kisses her on her doorstep, she allows it, but she keeps it short. Her heart gives a little jump, though, and she smiles as she pulls away. She says goodnight, goes inside, and leans against her front door.

                There are probably others for Imogen, too. There are definitely others for Imogen, too.

                Which is fine. That’s how these things work.

                Fiona sighs as she makes her way to her bedroom. She doesn’t bother changing out of her clothes; just falls into bed, still cuddling her oversized bear.

                Imogen would love the bear. Fiona, despite herself, loves the bear. She reminds herself that she has no idea what Imogen loves now. Or who.

                _But once_ , she thinks, _she was mine. She_ was _mine._

And that, maybe, is enough. Fiona will let that be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Lemme' know what you think!! I'll be writing a fic everyday (lol sort of) for Femslash February, so lemme' know if there are any prompts/femslash pairings you wanna' see in the comments!!


End file.
